


Always Rather Odd

by alexcat



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Fluff, Gen, M/M, POV John Watson
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-23
Updated: 2019-05-23
Packaged: 2020-03-10 04:04:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,289
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18930910
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alexcat/pseuds/alexcat
Summary: Sherlock is missing, or is he?  John means to find out.





	Always Rather Odd

**Author's Note:**

  * For [dryadinthegrove](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=dryadinthegrove).



I came home from a trip to the Veterans Agency to fill out some paperwork. Wars might end, but the paper trail they leave go on and on forever. It was some new form almost every week. I expected Sherlock to be there.

But Sherlock seldom did what anyone expected, did he? 

I picked up all the newspapers strewn all about and felt the teacup on the table. Cold. Sherlock had been out for a while, it seemed. 

I turned on my computer and sat down to my blog. My readers were an odd lot, but then my life was rather odd, wasn’t it? Nothing had been normal at all since I met Holmes. My reverie was interrupted by a tap on the door. 

It was Mrs. Hudson. 

“It’s you, dear. I made us some tea.” She brought in the tray with cups and a teapot. The whiskey she added came from a small flask in her pocket. “He left several hours ago. Didn’t say a word to me.” 

I smiled at her and took the tea. Living with Sherlock made Mrs. Hudson’s tea quite refreshing now and again. Sometimes we skipped the tea and went straight for the whiskey. 

“I worry about him when he gets this way,” she finally said. “He looked at me as if he didn’t even know me.” 

“He’ll be all right. I’ll call Mycroft, and see if he’s seen him.”

I hated calling Mycroft. He was always so smug and knowing, just like Sherlock. He wore it less well than Sherlock did, though. 

“I’ve not seen my brother. Did you check the morgue?” This was not actually nearly as ghoulish a question as it seemed from Mycroft. The first time I laid eyes on Sherlock Holmes was in the morgue. He was beating a corpse. Should have given me a hint as to what I was heading for, don’t you think? 

I thanked him and rang off. 

And set to pacing. Mrs. Hudson left me to my own devices.

I knew he was a grown man and perfectly capable of taking care – well, that wasn’t true. He would forget to eat, stare at things for hours, walk into traffic. He needed someone to watch out for him now and again – like every single day. 

I was that someone.

As he had explained to me, he wasn’t a sexual creature, therefore he wasn’t gay. He wasn’t anything. He simple wanted to think and solve mysteries. Normal life and normal things did not interest him in the least. 

I was, on the other hand, completely smitten with him from first moment I saw him. Why else would I stay with such an annoying man? 

I looked through the internet history on the computer. Poisons, perversions, ways to give maximum pain – just another day at the office for Sherlock. 

I texted him. _Where are you? >_

Nothing. Also quite typical. 

I had made an entry to my blog before I noticed that Sherlock had commented on my last entry.  
_You’re a drama queen, John. It wasn’t that bad._

Right. 

I’d been chased by men with guns and tripped and fell into a ditch of disgusting brown water. Then I been caught by said men with guns and threatened if I didn’t tell them where Murphy was. Who the hell Murphy was I still don’t know, but Sherlock somehow talked them into letting me go. 

Drama queen? I think not. 

My phone pinged. I rushed to check it. _I might need a spot of help, John._

What had he done now? Stolen the crown jewels? Sat naked in the queen’s parlor? Called Prince Charles a moron? He had done all of those at one time or another. 

“ _Where are you?_

_Goal._

Well, of course he spelled it that way! That was just Sherlock. 

_Why?_

_Threatening the PM._

_Did you?_

_They think so. I merely warned him about a credible threat I ran across._

I didn’t answer. I called Mycroft right away. He was the one to call when it came to the authorities. He evidently worked for some shadowy agency of the Crown without a real name. I sat tight, waiting to hear back from him. It took longer than I’d hoped, but he finally called me back.

“Go pick him up. He ran across some chatter from some Middle Eastern terrorist and decided going to Parliament to tell them was a good idea. He was arrested and you know the rest.”

“Was he right about the threat?” I asked.

Mycroft hesitated. “Yes, he was. Which opens a whole new set of problems, but I decided to pretend that I didn’t know that and fixed it for him as best I could. He is free.”

I sighed. He had obviously poked a bear of some dangerous sort if Mycroft was worried. 

I got a taxi and headed for MI5 headquarters. It turned out that was where he was being held. 

“What took you so long?” he asked when I walked in. 

Words failed me. I sputtered a few times and finally found something to say. “Are you insane?”

“That is always a possibility.” 

“Let’s go home.” 

“Don’t we need to speak to someone?” he asked me.

“No. Your brother took care of it.” I enjoyed his wince at my words. It served him right. He hated it when Mycroft ‘fixed’ things. 

We left the building and took a taxi back to 222 Baker Street. Mrs. Hudson was waiting with tea. Since she says she is _not_ a housekeeper, just a landlady, I assume the tea was an attempt to find out what had happened. I told her everything just to annoy Sherlock. He made petulant faces, but I noticed he drank the tea and ate the lemon scones she brought up. 

After she left, I asked him, “What were you thinking? Why didn’t you just call Mycroft?” 

“I didn’t want to talk to him.”

I sighed. 

“No one ever wants to talk ot him, but sometimes it’s necessary,” I answered shortly. 

He sat down and began to check his phone. I watched him, knowing that he was aware I was doing so. He always knew what I would do before I did it. 

“Was it a real threat?” I asked. 

“Yes. I uncovered a plot to kill the Prime Minister.” 

I didn’t even ask how. He was seldom, if ever, wrong. Everyone knew that, even the PM. 

“Why did they arrest you? The PM knows who you are and knows you’re credible.” 

“The person who was running security was new and did not, apparently, know me. She decided that I was making a threat and called MI5.”

“Maybe she was part of the plot.” 

Sherlock looked at me with an indulgent smile. “You think?” 

I shrugged. I was a little slower than he was, but then so was everyone else on earth with the possible exception of Moriarty and Mycroft. 

Remember when I told you that Sherlock was not concerned with sex or love at all? This changed sometime after we moved in together. One evening I woke with a Sherlock sized lump in my bed. The lump moved closer to me and made sounds, quite a lot of sounds, as it turned out. 

He sat beside me on the sofa. He moved quite close but did not touch me or say anything. This was my hint. I put my arm around his shoulder and leaned close. 

“Shall we retire to my room?” I whispered in his ear. 

He nodded. I stood and reached for his hand, leading him to my small bedroom. I would never tell him that I’d been very worried and was glad he was back home safe. He knew it, though. 

Sherlock knows everything.


End file.
